Never Satisfied: Do Men Know What They Want? (27 page)

We both laughed.

“Ok, that’s enough dirty talk. I can’t get my pants on because my dick is so hard” I joked. “Let me throw on a pair of jeans and grab my garment bag and I’ll be right over to punch in,” I laughed. “How’s noon?”

“Perfect!” she shouted. You’ll be just in time for lunch, or should I say, to be lunch. And let me warn you, I’m starving. See you at noon. Bye.”

Angela was the ideal mistress. She was attractive, childless, and most importantly, affordable. Never once in two years had she asked me to take her out or buy expensive gifts. All she wanted was a little conversation and lots of sex, both of which I could easily afford. But getting over to enjoy this economical date presented a transportation problem. My wife had driven the Honda Civic to work that day and our other car, a 2009 Corvette, was stored away in our garage. We both had agreed not to drive it until spring or unless there was an emergency. But on that day, I would break my own rules. The weather outside was terrible and there was no way I was taking the bus over to the other side of town. I thought about waiting for my wife to get home with the Honda, but the idea of answering questions didn’t sit too well with me. So, being the typical horny male, you know it didn’t take long to make a decision. I put on my blue jeans, threw a business suit in my garment bag, and grabbed the car keys off the hook. Before leaving, I wrote a short letter lying about attending an important business engagement across town. Then I wisely called my secretary and asked her to cover for me if my wife was to call. After putting all the safeguards in place, I strolled out the door ready for a high impact, low budget workout with Angela.

So there I was, driving in the rain and snow; it was a slushy mess. The traffic was bumper to bumper and people were driving like lunatics. To make matters worse, there was road construction going on, three lanes were merged into one. It must have taken me twenty minutes just to get down the expressway ramp. But once I got beyond the construction area, it was smooth sailing. For the next ten miles traffic was light and moving at a constant 55 mph. That is, until I arrived at the toll way where traffic was backed up again, “Why don’t you stupid people have your change ready,” I shouted. After wasting another fifteen minutes of pulling my hair out, I finally got through the toll and made it to Angela’s place. What a trip!

Looking at the clock in my car, it was 1:00 p.m. I was an hour late. Having wasted enough valuable time, I quickly grabbed my cellular phone and garment bag and turned on the alarm system. Don’t get me wrong; it’s not that Angela lives in the ghetto, but the neighborhood isn’t exactly Mayberry either. Anyway, when I made it up the front steps, Angela was waiting with the door open. As usual, she was half-naked and smelling like the perfume department at Marshall Fields. I put my things down and dragged her straight to the bedroom. It took me all of five seconds to strip out off my clothes and get between the sheets. I did slow down long enough to put on my condom.

By 3:00 p.m., we were both exhausted. My mouth was completely dried out and Angela’s stomach was growling like crazy. We put on our robes and went downstairs to make something to eat. She put a couple of steaks in the oven, and I shredded a head of lettuce for a salad. By 4:00 p.m. the food was ready. While we sat across the table from one another, she made all kinds of obscene gestures with her food, licking the steak and rolling her tongue around the fork. It was clear she wanted more sex, but I was tired and my tank was empty. After cleaning our plates, she put away the dishes and guided me back upstairs to screw my brains out, again. But before she could make her move, I begged for mercy.

“Please baby, I’m only human for God’s sake.”

“Awe, come on Tony,” she said while stroking my chest. “I know you have a few more rounds in you.”

“Food always makes me tired Angela, especially when it’s raining outside. Just let me relax for a minute.”

“Remind me not to feed your ass until after round two next time.”

“Very funny. Now stop hogging the blanket and let me get some rest.”

I told her to set the alarm clock for 6:00 p.m., which would have given me enough time to put on my business attire and make it home by 7:00 p.m. The day had gone perfectly, up to that point. The sex was great, the food was good, and the bed was warm. All of that pleasure and relaxation for the price of a tank of gas. What a bargain! But my celebration was premature. As I fell into a deep sleep, the price of passion was about to multiply.

It was 9:15 p.m. when I was awakened by the sound of my car alarm. I leaped out of bed and lifted up the foggy window to see two young kids going through the inside of my car.

“Get the hell away from there!” I shouted.

One of them gave me the finger while the other grabbed what he could carry, and off they ran around the corner. Angela turned on the lights and handed me my pants. I just looked at her and shook my head. She had intentionally neglected to set the alarm. This was one of her silly attempts at causing trouble. I wanted to smack the shit out of her but there was no time for dramatics. So, without saying a single word, I ran downstairs, grabbed cell phone and car keys and slammed the door behind me. After turning off the alarm, I inspected the inside of the car to see what damage had been done. The passenger’s side window was completely busted out, and the seat was soaked with rain. Everything out of the glove compartment was gone, IPod, cologne, insurance papers, and a pair of my wife’s Gucci sunglasses. “Thank God they weren’t professional, “I thought. “Otherwise I would be walking home.” I cleaned the glass off the seat and headed for the expressway. I was totally disgusted. My so-called cheap date had already cost me over one thousand dollars. But the night was still young.

When I arrived at the entrance ramp to the expressway, I looked over at the digital clock inside the car; it read 9:30 p.m. “My ass is definitely in for it tonight,” I said to myself. “How am I going to explain being out this late without calling? The frustration and anxiety of the situation only made matters worse. There I was 40 miles away from home with no window and no excuse. As I drove down the wet and slippery expressway, my foot turned into a block of cement. The speedometer read 75 mph. That was way too fast to be driving on wet pavement, but I didn’t care. I had to get home and every minute counted. The chilly night air was blowing freely through the broken window, but I was so pissed, I didn’t feel a thing. I was determined to make it home before ten. And just as it looked as if I was going to make it, guess what happens. That’s right, I get pulled over by a State Trooper for speeding. “God, please don’t let this be some cowboy who’s had a bad day,” I prayed. But that was asking for too much. As he approached my car, I let the window down, and reached inside my jacket to get my license out.

“Keep your hands where I can see’m boy!” he shouted.

“Oh shit, it’s John Wayne!” I said under my breath.

“Don’t move until I tell ya to.”

“What’s the problem officer?”

“The problem is I’ve got a report of a stolen Red Corvette, and you are speeding like this is the damn Indianapolis 500.”

“Well, if you will allow me to get my license out, I can prove the car is registered to me.”

“Why don’t you just do that?”

I slowly pulled out my wallet and handed him my license. I didn’t want the situation to turn into Rodney King part two.

“Stay right there son, I’ll be right back,” he said with an annoying southern accent.

He walked back to his car and punched up my license on his computer. Within five minutes he was on his way back. But this time his attitude was less hostile and more professional.

“Look Sir, I’m sorry about the harsh language but sometimes you never know.”

“No problem officer.”

“However, I will have to give you a ticket for driving 70 mph in a 55 mph zone. And since the road is wet, I’ll also have to cite you for driving too fast for conditions.”

“Look officer, can you give me a break? I’ve had a terrible day. I’m late getting home and my car has been broken into.”

“Well, looks like your day is about to get even worse.”

He handed me two tickets, and had the nerve to tell me to have a nice day. “Yeah right,” I said under my breath. I put the car in drive and pulled out into traffic. At that very moment, I swear I wanted to cry. Why do all the worst things seem to happen when you’re out somewhere you have no business being? I contemplated.

After that experience, I never saw Angela again. I didn’t even bother going back for my suit. I simply tacked it on to the price of the lesson. As for my wife, she didn’t say a single word to me that night. The look on my face was so damned pitiful she decided to have mercy. The next morning I went to the dealer for an estimate on the damage. The cost was $1,100. However, after adding on the $200 for the traffic tickets, $500 for the suit I left at Angela’s, and the $3 for the tolls, it came out to an even $1,803. Let this be a lesson to cheating men everywhere; it really isn’t worth it.

The cheating man’s inability to control his hormones will eventually catch up with him. One day he will make the mistake of not using protection and the result will be 18 to 21 years of child support. Now he will pay to play whether he likes it or not, either by choice or with a little motivation from the court system. Men who find themselves in this predicament act as if they are stunned by the choice of their mistress to go through with the pregnancy. “How could this trick do this to me?” he swears. “We didn’t even have a serious relationship,” It may not have been serious to him but for her it was as serious as a heart attack. The underlying problem is the cheating man’s ignorance and total disregard for the feelings of his lover. Most women are emotional creatures who equate love with sex. Her vagina is not just some outlet for his physical pleasure but an ultra sensitive nerve connected to her heart. So while he’s on top of her moaning and groaning thinking it’s all in fun, she is slowly but surely falling in love. Now she won’t be so easy to get rid of. After years of climbing in and out of his bed, the mistress also feels she has made an investment, one that she has every intention of collecting on. And if that means having his baby, then so be it.

This kind of mentality is typical of women who are desperately lonely and have very low self-esteem. Rather than finding a man who is willing to consent to fathering their child, they prefer to set a sex trap and trick him into it. This is by far the most disgraceful and stupid thing a woman could ever do. She may have the baby and a few extra dollars, if she’s lucky, but she’ll rarely if ever get the man. Ultimately she is the one who is trapped with the day-to-day responsibility of raising a child. Not to mention having to explain to her son or daughter that their father was married to someone else when they were conceived. What a jacked up way to bring children into the world. But no one is more stupid than the cheating man for allowing it to happen. He is the one who has everything to lose, his family, his peace of mind, and his money.

One year ago, Anthony and Carey, who are both in their late thirties, learned exactly how expensive cheating can be. However, it was Carey who learned his lesson the hard way. Whether by accident or design his mistress Stephanie came up pregnant only two months after they started having sex. His world forever changed and his wallet forever lightened. According to the laws in this state, she was entitled to 20% of his salary. Which amounts to nearly $550 to $600 a month. What a price to pay for a few nights of meaningless sex. Anthony, who is single with no kids, could only empathize with his partner and learn from his mistake. Hopefully there’s a lesson in it for other cheating men out there. Strap up or pay up!

Anthony and Carey’s Story

T
his nightmarish ordeal began in August when Carey and I met Stephanie at the mall. A mutual friend who managed one of the clothing stores introduced us. She had a nice personality, but her body was not quite up to my standards. On a scale from one to ten, she was about a six. Her breasts were too small and she didn’t have much ass either. But what she did have was a flirtatious smile and a bed that was easy to get into. As it turned out, that was all she needed to attract Carey’s attention. From the very beginning, I warned him to be very careful with her. Although she appeared to be a nice person, her credentials were shaky. No college, no career, and as far as I was concerned, no future. I’m always leery of women who fit into this category because they have absolutely nothing to lose.